


Walking on a Dream

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Voltron Hospital AU [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Siblings, M/M, Phantom Limb Pain, hello folks I am back on my bullshit, keith loses a leg in this, klance, so there's that I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: The body can be stubborn when it comes to accepting change. The mind holds out hope that the body can be whole again and the mind will always fight for hope, tooth and nail. Until it finds a way of understanding its new reality and accepts that what is gone is gone forever.It's Keith's first day back at work after The Accident™️, but phantom pain sucks. (Not-so-loosely based off a Grey's Anatomy episode because I have no self-control.)





	Walking on a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Why am I so obsessed with the idea of Keith losing a leg, you ask? Good question! I have no idea. Also, the title is the same as the title of the episode this is based off of; not because I'm trying to be deep. 
> 
> I wrote this to cope with the train wreck that was season eight because listen, Voltron can fucking CHOKE okay I don’t care what anyone says. Allura is still alive and Keith and Lance are dating and I’m not dead inside and you can take that to the bank. 
> 
> Also who knows what the heck happened with Keith losing the leg, because I sure don't despite being the literal author. I made it vague on purpose because I kinda wanted it to follow what happened to Arizona in the show, but also not? Plus I wrote another fic once about this very scenario, so I guess if you want to know the full story go read that and try to apply it to this au? Who the fuck knows my guys I'm tired.

_The body can be stubborn when it comes to accepting change. The mind holds out hope that the body can be whole again and the mind will always fight for hope, tooth and nail. Until it finds a way of understanding its new reality and accepts that what is gone is gone forever._

* * *

The first rays of sunlight creep steadily across the floor, staining the retreating shadows orange. It’s sunrise, barely. A time when the rest of the world stays blissfully asleep as dawn breaks, aside from those few cursed with a 6:00 AM surgical shift.

Keith sits on the edge of the mattress, yawning and stretching his back until it cracks. Keith may be a morning person at heart, but that rule can be thrown right out the window when taking in the fact that as of late, a night of uninterrupted sleep is barely accessible to begin with. And not even in a fun way.

If Keith had a nickel for every time he wished he had Lance’s superpower to be automatically energetic at the crack of dawn, he’d have one whole nickel.

You’d think Keith should be eager to _finally_ reach the end of his long leave of absence, but it’s impossible to be anything but drained when running on three hours of sleep and enough Tylenol to kill a small fish. Maybe after a cup of coffee he can break out the party poppers and confetti, but for now he’ll stick with stumbling around like a zombie until he wakes up properly.

Lance’s voice carries from the crack in the doorway of the en-suite bathroom, where he’s attacking his unruly bedhead with a hairbrush. “Are you sure you want to go back in today? There’s no shame in holding off for another week, you know.”

“We’ve been over this, Lance.” Keith picks up a red scrub top from one of the many piles on the floor and pulls it over his head. The faucet creaks as it runs.

“All I’m saying is there’s no reason you have to rush it. Give your body the chance to heal properly before going straight back to twenty-hour ER shifts. Remember what Matt said—”

“I don’t care what Matt said,” Keith interrupts. “I know what I’m capable of.” It’s like pulling teeth getting Lance to relent in his newfound obsession with Keith’s health. He can’t so much as take Kosmo for a walk around the corner without Lance having an aneurysm.

Lance’s voice is garbled as he talks around toothpaste foam. “I’m just being cautious. Are you sure you’ll be okay walking around all day? What if you have to run to a trauma? What if you slip and fall on a wet floor? It won’t be easy.”

Keith crosses his arms and glares at the door. “You think I can’t do it?”

A long pause. “…There’s no right answer to that, is there?”

Keith snorts. He runs his fingers through his hair, combing out the knots until he’s satisfied. “Besides,” he says. “I’ve been going stir-crazy lying around all day. And I’m sure Kolivan is falling apart without me.”

They’ve been having this very argument every day for the past week, bickering back and forth but never reaching a middle ground. Keith insists he’s ready to go back to work, and Lance says he should wait a little longer. Back and forth, day after day. And the thing is, Lance’s concern over his boyfriend’s wellbeing would be sweet if only it weren’t so damn _annoying._

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Keith reaches for the prosthetic leg leaned against the nightstand. He ignores the pang in his stomach as he rolls up his right pant leg and fastens on the prosthesis.

Once it’s on, Keith takes a deep breath before slowly raising himself to his feet, hand braced against the footboard of the bed just in case. He supports himself solely on his left leg before carefully shifting his weight over, balancing on the fake limb. When he’s sure he’s not going to tip over, he lets go of the footboard and stands on his own.

Lance has appeared in the doorway and leans against the jamb, arms crossed. He watches Keith, letting out a low whistle. “Babe, you are officially the hottest one-legged man I’ve ever seen.”

Keith’s cheeks flush. “Shut up.”

Lance waits until Keith is ready to walk with him to the kitchen of their small apartment. As always, Lance hovers an inch too close, just within reach so Keith can lean his weight on him if he needs to. He doesn’t.

Adam is already rifling through the kitchen cupboards when they get there. Keith places a hand on the edge of the countertop while his face screws in confusion. “Why are you in our apartment?”

Without turning his head, Adam jerks a thumb toward his and Shiro’s place on the other side of the wall. “We ran out of waffle mix.”

“Bitch?”

“Come on, sharing is caring.”

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t care about you, then. Now I can sic Kosmo on you without guilt.”

Lance pays no attention to their banter as he digs through the couch cushions for his keys. This is far from unusual for the two brothers-in-law who refuse to accept that status and instead settle for friendly hatred. Because family, of course.

“Feel free, but just remember my husband has a metal arm and will definitely avenge me.” That’s when Adam looks at Keith for the first time, takes in the fact that he’s dressed for work. He forgets all about his waffle mix quest. “Woah, you’re actually going back to Altea today?”

Bristling, Keith shifts so he’s no longer supporting himself on the counter. “Yeah, what about it?”

Adam opens his mouth, eyes dropping down to Keith’s lower half, but Lance makes a cutting motion across his throat and Adam closes it. “No reason.”

Keith rolls his eyes and grabs a banana from the bowl, walking past them both to the front door. “Waffle mix is in the other cabinet, idiot,” he says over his shoulder.

Adam switches cabinets. “Could have figured that out on my own!” He dodges the piece of banana Keith throws at his head.

* * *

In the grand scheme of things, it’s not too much to ask for everyone to make as little a deal about Keith’s return as possible, is it?

Evidently it is, because during both the car ride _and_ the trek across the parking lot, Lance doesn’t stop double, triple, and quadruple checking that Keith is one hundred percent sure about going to work today. He’s convinced Keith is made of glass, like the slightest breeze will topple him over and shatter him all over again.

Lance insists on opening the car door for him, as well as the door to the hospital lobby. And when Keith tells him to cut it out, he replies with, “I’m just being a gentleman, baby.” Gross.

They find Pidge and Hunk in the resident’s lounge before rounds, and the pair welcomes Keith back with open arms. Literally. Hunk wraps him up in a big hug, squeezing him until Keith is sure his lungs will burst.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until Thursday,” Pidge says once Hunk has let him back on the ground.

Keith shrugs. “Didn’t feel like waiting around anymore.”

“No kidding,” Lance says. “I caught him trying to do sutures on a peeled tomato once.”

Keith elbows him in the side. “I didn’t want to get rusty, okay?”

“Suuure.”

“Well, I’m just glad I made the cupcakes in advance,” Hunk says. From seemingly out of thin air, he produces a large platter of cupcakes. “Ta-da! To celebrate your first day back at work!”

When they get a good look at the treats Lance is horrified, but Keith laughs. The cupcakes spell out _Welcome Back Criple_ in bright red letters. “Pidge decorated them,” Hunk explains, “so I’m just going to apologize for _that_ terrible lapse in judgement.”

Pidge stands on her tiptoes, pointing at her work like a kid in an art show. “See what I did with the frosting? It’s red for the blood when your leg came off.”

“Thanks, Pidge.” Keith gives her a fist bump. “But aren’t there two Ps in cripple?”

She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing. “There _were._ We looked away for a split second and Coran snatched the second P.”

Hunk nods solemnly. “The man is as swift as he is sneaky.”

Keith shrugs and takes a cupcake, paying no attention to Lance’s not-so-subtle attempt to nudge him towards a chair. “So fill me in on what happened while I was gone. I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Hunk talks around his own cupcake. “Oh my god, last month we had a guy who got impaled by a metal pole? Shay has a ton of pictures of it on her phone—it was amazing.”

“And we just got the latest batch of interns,” Pidge adds.

“My news was more exciting.”

“Impossible. What’s more exciting than a bunch of baby doctors navigating their way through the hospital jungle? It’s magical.”

Lance snorts. “You just like having minions to boss around.”

“Yes, so I can impart my great wisdom on them and lead them down the path of righteousness.”

“A.K.A. making them wait on you hand and foot?”

Pidge shrugs, but she doesn’t deny it. “It’s eat or be eaten here. I’m just teaching them how to survive in the wild.”

Speak of the devil, a group of young doctors bustles into the room seemingly on command. From one look it’s easy to see their bright eyes and unbroken spirits, along with the naïve eagerness to save lives. Yup, definitely interns.

The one in front is a girl with dark skin and darker hair in a light blue headband. She hands Pidge a white paper bag. “Here’s your bagel, Dr. Gunderson. They didn’t have the blueberry cream cheese you asked for in the cafeteria, but I found some at the grocery store across the street.”

Pidge pats her on the head. “Good work, Leifsdottir.”

The intern frowns and points at a girl behind her with short blonde hair and freckles. “I’m Rizavi. _She’s_ Leifsdottir.”

Another intern pushes his way to the front of the pack, thrusting a stack of papers into Pidge’s hands. “I did the lab work you wanted, Dr. Gunderson.” His grin could melt icecaps.

“Thanks, Gribben.”

“It’s Griffin.”

“Whatever you say, Grizzly.”

“Pidge,” Hunk chides, “you can’t use the interns as your personal slaves.”

Pidge raises her hands defensively. “What? They’re eager to learn.”

While Hunk and Pidge proceed to argue the ethics surrounding the resident/intern relationship, Keith overhears Griffin whisper to Leifsdottir, “Look, it’s the dude who was in that plane crash with those other doctors.” Keith’s stomach sinks like a rock, and he goes completely still. “I heard he had an open femur fracture that got infected, so they had to amputate it in the woods with a—”

“Yo! Grimwald!” Pidge snaps. “Put a cork in it or I swear to god I will make you do every enema in this hospital for a _year.”_

Keith channels a blank expression, but his fist is clenched at his side so hard it shakes. He flinches when Lance threads their fingers together and smiles reassuringly, stroking his thumb over the ridge of Keith’s knuckles.

Griffin rolls his eyes, unintimidated. “You got my name wrong again.”

“Does it really matter?”

They all nod, and Pidge huffs. “Fine, babies. If you’re going to keep complaining, then as of this moment you’re all being assigned new names.” She points at Griffin. “From now on you will be referred to as Happy.”

She points at the intern in the back, who has been silent the entire time. “You’re Grumpy.” He grunts. “Rizavi is Doc, and Leifsdottir…” She looks her up and down. “Your new name is Mousy.”

Leifsdottir’s eyebrows furrow. “I don’t…remember there being a dwarf named Mousy.”

“Sure there was. He was the little one who got eaten by all the other dwarves.” Pidge’s pager beeps, and she checks it. “Shit, I have to go.” She looks back up at her eager dwarves. “As for all of you, you can go do post-ops.”

Nobody moves.

“I meant _now?”_ That does it. The interns scurry out of the room, Pidge at their heels yelling, “Hustle, interns, hustle!”

The others watch them go until they’re out of sight. “And on that strange note,” Keith says, “I’ve got patients waiting for me.”

Hunk raises his eyebrows. “Wow, you’re really jumping right back in headfirst, huh?”

Keith gathers his hair into a ponytail. “Yeah? And?”

“I just thought you’d, you know, want to take it easy your first day back.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Lance whispers to him. “But he wants to be a tough guy or something, which _I_ think is completely bogus and he’s going to get himself killed, but whatever.”

Once his hair is secure, Keith stares them both down. “Look. I know everyone’s got their own concerns about my wellbeing, but I’m fine. All I want is as normal a day as possible. The sooner I get back into the swing of things, the better. So chill, okay?” He waits. _“Okay?”_

Lance rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop talking about it.” He raises one hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“Good.” Keith presses a quick kiss to Lance’s lips before striding out of the room. He weaves around Leifsdottir, who is already making her way back to the lounge.

She stops in front of Lance and Hunk, looking up at them quizzically. “Do you know where the ‘good’ vending machine is? Gunderson wanted Doritos, but I have no idea what she means by, quote, ‘the only good vending machine in this hellhole I call home.’”

Lance stares at her before a lightbulb goes off in his head. “Actually, Doc, I have a new assignment for you.”

“It’s Mousy, actually.”

Lance grabs her by the shoulders and turns her around, pointing down the hallway to where Keith disappears around the corner. “You know that doctor with the mullet?”

“You mean the one James calls Stumpy?”

Lance recoils. “Is that really what they’re calling him?” She nods. “Damn, I forgot you interns gossip like bitchy high schoolers.”

Leifsdottir shrugs. “I just eavesdrop. I don’t participate.”

“…Fair enough. Anyway, _yes,_ Stumpy. I need you to follow him around all day with a wheelchair and have it close by for when he gets tired of standing but is too prideful to admit it. You can’t be too obvious about it, though. If he figures it out he’ll be pissed, so I need you to lurk in the shadows, ready to spring in case he needs to sit down. Can I trust you with this mission?”

Leifsdottir salutes. “Aye aye, captain.”

He salutes back, grinning. “Good job, soldier.” Leifsdottir goes off to follow Keith, and when Lance turns back around, Hunk has his arms crossed. “What?”

“You have no shame at all, do you?”

Lance waves a hand. “He’ll thank me for it later.”

* * *

All throughout his shift in the pit of the ER, Keith is lucky enough to not have a single slipup. In fact, once he slips into Altea Memorial’s familiar chaos, he forgets about his leg altogether.

It’s like coming back home after a long vacation. There’s a comforting atmosphere to it that Keith kind of sinks into. Kolivan welcomes him back eagerly, and Keith was right about him having been a wreck without Keith here. All of the other trauma residents are wimps, and it shows.

Today the ER is packed to the brim with patients, so Keith is able to go right to work without any fuss or fanfare. Tranquility settles over him as he goes through his regular routine for the first time in too long, and not even an amputated leg can screw him over now. He’s in the zone.

At least, he _was_ in the zone, until his leg started tingling somewhere around the fifth patient. That is, the fake leg. You know, the right leg that as of three months ago no longer _exists?_ That one.

Keith is in the middle of stitching a drunk man’s head laceration when suddenly a sharp, buzzing pain overtakes his leg from toes to knee. A burning current zaps over his skin like he stuck it into an electrified swimming pool. He hisses, and the shock of it nearly makes him drop the sutures.

It takes a moment for the tingles to subside enough for him to continue, but not a minute later and the static is back at full force, far more intense than before and making Keith’s breath catch in his throat. He looks around, eyes landing on Regris.

“Reg, do you think you can take over these sutures for me? I need to…to go do something.” The moment the tools are out of Keith’s hands he’s gone, walking as fast as one can with a bum leg that feels like it’s about to burst into flames.

Keith makes it to a hallway just off the pit, which is blessedly empty. Keith practically collapses against the wall, sagging as his absent leg tingles and burns. He yanks up his pant leg, staring at the prosthetic in place of flesh. _It’s not real. It’s not real._

This isn’t the first time Keith’s had an episode like this. They actually happen quite frequently, to be honest. Hot, burning static rushing across every nerve that shouldn’t feel like it had been jammed into a toaster. But they’ve always been exclusively at night, up until now. On nights when Keith wakes up in a cold sweat, mind assaulted by memories of _pain_ and _blood_ and _more pain,_ stifling screams behind his hands so he doesn’t wake Lance sleeping soundly beside him.

Keith grits his teeth and digs his fingernails into the flesh just above his prosthetic. During one of the few ( _very_ few) times Lance had woken up while Keith was having one of his episodes, he showed him a breathing technique that was supposed to calm him down enough to make the pain go away.

So Keith forces himself to take deep breaths, counting down the minutes until his heart stops hammering like it’s about to burst out of his chest. It takes a while, but eventually the static ebbs from a tsunami to intense discomfort. It still hurts, but in comparison to the agony from before, it’s paradise. Keith relaxes, slouching further against the wall as he catches his breath.

He hears wheels squeaking. He cracks open his eyes and sees that intern Pidge called Mousy standing a distance away, staring at him and every so slowly inching a wheelchair in his direction.

Keith narrows his eyes. “Go away.”

She nudges the chair an inch closer, holding it out in offering.

“I said _go away,”_ Keith growls. He makes a shooing motion with the hand not holding him up against the wall. “Shoo.”

Her face drops into a pout and she backs away.

Keith sighs and lets his head fall against the wall. Fuck Lance.

* * *

Nine patients and two trauma cases later, and Keith has barely noticed the time passing by. He was determined to bounce back from his little episode, and bounce back he does. It’s like his brain moves on autopilot alone, propelling him to every case which demands his attention. Thank goodness for small blessings.

He’s going over the follow-up x-rays of a teenager’s previously broken clavicle, closed off to the world around him, when suddenly someone taps on his shoulder. Keith flinches so hard from the unexpected contact that his prosthetic slips out from under him, and the only thing that keeps him from falling to the ground are hands catching his elbows.

“Crap, sorry!” Hunk squeaks behind him.

Keith takes a second to regain his balance before turning around. He checks his right leg, makes sure it’s straight and in no danger of buckling. He exhales. “It’s fine. You just caught me by surprise. Not totally used to the leg yet.”

Hunk winces, guilt written all over his face. “I’m so sorry. I should have thought before sneaking up on you like that, and—”

“Hunk,” Keith cuts him off. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Just because I’m crippled doesn’t mean I’m fragile.” The corner of his mouth lifts.

Hunk takes a deep breath. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Keith nods and crosses his arms. “So what did you need?”

“I just wanted to know if you were ready to check on that patient, Brandon? The heart transplant kid?”

Whoops. Keith was so focused on acting natural today, he completely forgot about that.

Two days before The Accident, Keith had gotten a young patient who had been in a car crash and suffered several internal injuries, including trauma to the heart and liver. Once Keith was out of commission, Hunk had taken over as Brandon’s doctor for the time being. They were waiting on a donor heart for months, and yesterday they finally got a match.

The surgery is scheduled for tomorrow with Pidge, but Hunk offered for Keith to scrub in as well since it was originally his patient and all. Keith’s fairly sure it was a pity offering, but he’s willing to overlook that if it means he gets a free surgery out of it.

Keith looks back at the x-rays. “I’m about done here, so let’s do it.”

He and Hunk walk together to the elevators. As they wait for the elevator to come, Keith is struck by a thought and steps back. “You know what?” he says. “I think I actually forgot something. You go on up and I’ll meet you there in a sec.”

He turns and makes it look like he’s going back to the ER, but once the elevator doors close behind Hunk, Keith changes directions. Instead, he goes to the stairwell.

Keith stands at the bottom, looking up at the flights of stairs above him. Even just going to the third floor will be difficult, but Keith shuts down any second thoughts before they can form. He is _just_ as capable as he was before, and he’s not letting a flight of stairs scare him off so easily.

So, after checking over his shoulder to make sure nobody can see him, Keith takes a deep breath and lifts his right foot, placing it on the first step.

Well. He’s not dead.

Keith takes a moment, lets all his weight fall onto his right foot, and takes another step. He’s gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles are white. He doesn’t move too fast, being mindful of each step and taking caution every time he’s supporting himself solely on the prosthesis. But he’s still not dead. He hasn’t fallen into a sad heap at the bottom yet, which is a welcome surprise.

After ten agonizingly slow stairs and still no slipup, a tentative grin breaks out on Keith’s face. So far so good.

He knows Lance would be horrified if he knew what he was doing, and Matt would no doubt lecture him for an hour on not ruining the brand-new leg he made for him, but Keith is too proud of himself to care. He’s walking up the stairs. By _himself._ And his prosthetic isn’t giving him any trouble.

Satisfaction washes over Keith at the feeling of independence—something he hasn’t been granted in so long it’s thrilling. Leg be damned, Keith can still do everything he used to do. He’s strong. He’s resilient. He’s—

Without warning, Keith’s leg is struck by a hot, sharp surge of electricity. The pain makes Keith’s whole leg jerk, and his prosthetic heel misses the edge of the next step.

Before Keith knows it, he’s falling backwards with a panicked shout. His fingers slip from the railing, and ice cold dread freezes in his veins as gravity takes over.

“Keith!”

Keith would have tumbled down the staircase and probably broken something had he not been caught by strong arms behind him, stopping his descent.

The arms help him regain his balance, and Keith grabs for the railing with both hands, heart pounding. He rests all his weight on his real foot, taking a second to breathe.

Allura stays close beside him and keeps her hands on his arms, like she’s afraid he’ll topple over again. “Keith, are you alright?”

Keith inhales shakily. Once he’s sure he’s got his balance back, he pulls away from Allura and takes one shaky hand off the railing. “I’m fine.”

She looks at him, a concerned wrinkle in her forehead. She puts a hand on his back. “Are the elevators not working?”

“It’s nothing, Allura. Leave it alone.”

“But are you sure you should be exerting this much energy so soon after—”

“I said I’m _fine!” _Keith snaps.__

Allura’s eyes widen, and as soon as he hears his own words, Keith wishes a hole in the ground would open to swallow him up. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—” Keith grits his teeth, lets his blood to simmer down before speaking more calmly. “I’m sorry, Allura. Just…I’m fine, okay?”

The wrinkle doesn’t smooth itself out. “Okay.”

Keith nods, takes a moment more before continuing up the stairs again, slower than before. Allura follows at his side. She keeps her hand over the small of his back just in case, but she doesn’t comment again. Keith appreciates that.

When Keith finally makes it to the patient room, it’s fifteen minutes after he told Hunk he’d meet him in a sec.

“There you are,” Hunk says when he crosses the threshold. “Where’d you go, man? I was about to call the dog catcher to track you down.”

Keith presses his lips together in an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Ran into Allura and lost track of time.”

“Okay, well I just sent out for a blood test, but I think we should be good to operate tomorrow.”

“Sweet.” Keith goes over to the bed, holding up his hand for a high five which Brandon slaps in that extra enthusiastic way kids do. “Hey, little man. Dr. Garrett here been treating you right while I was gone?”

Now, Keith may be embarrassingly awkward when it comes to talking with people, but kids don’t count as people and that is a fact. Adults ask too many questions. Every time Keith walks into a patient room, it feels like they’re already judging his every move, just _waiting_ for him to screw up and kill them. When it comes to adults, Keith is content to give them the info they need before surgery and book it away as fast as he can. With kids, though? He’s okay with sticking around.

However, Brandon is awfully quiet today compared to how chatty he was pre-accident. His lips are pressed together so tightly they’re white, and he keeps glancing down at Keith’s leg. _Ah._

While Keith listens to the kid’s lungs, he casually says, “So how much did he pay you not to mention the leg?”

Brandon gives a toothy grin. “Five dollars and a fish sticker.”

Keith smirks over at Hunk, who looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Mm. Dr. Garrett has very bad judgement, doesn’t he?”

“Traitor,” Hunk mutters.

Keith straightens, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck. “What do you say you give _me_ those five dollars, and I’ll let you see the fake leg.”

“Yeah!”

Later on, when they’re leaving the room, Hunk apologizes to Keith. “In all fairness, though, I didn’t know the kid was a bad actor. It’s just…I mean, I couldn’t _not_ tell him why you suddenly vanished for three months, right? I knew he’d ask all kinds of questions about it when you got back, and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable because I wasn’t sure if you were okay with talking about it yet, so…” he trails off, wringing his hands.

Keith pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind so much, actually.”

Hunk is hesitant to believe him. “…Really?”

Keith nods, and Hunk’s shoulders relax a fraction. “It’s actually kind of nice not having to hide it and be embarrassed all the time. Makes me feel…normal again, if that makes sense.”

Hunk laughs. “You can always count on kids to find the cool factor in anything, I can tell you that. But…you know you can’t just profit off of patients, right?”

Keith chuckles and hands Hunk back the five-dollar bill. “It’s just good business.”

* * *

It’s around one in the afternoon when Lance tracks Keith down where he’s updating patient charts. He watches as Lance hoists himself onto the counter of the ER desk. “Hey, my Mullet Man.” He plants a kiss on the top of Keith’s head and slides over a bowl filled to the brim with chicken nuggets.

“Check what I stole from the cafeteria. Figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

Keith grabs a nugget and pops it into his mouth. “Thanks.” He grabs three more.

Lance swings his legs like a kid, nudging Keith’s hip with his shoe. “So how’s your day been going? Any good cases? I had the final surgery for my gas tank explosion guy earlier, so as you can see, I’m doing _marvelous_ today.”

Keith hums, eyes back on the clipboard. “Nothing too interesting for me so far.”

Lance purses his lips. “Okay…so _nothing_ else happened today? Just a normal, average, run-of-the-mill shift? Totally boring? Not a single thing to report?”

Keith sighs. “I know what you’re doing, Lance. But I assure you, I’m perfectly fine. No slipping on puddles, no tripping on a leaf and busting my other leg.”

Lance puts his hands up defensively. “Hey, I’m just making sure my boyfriend is safe.” He reaches over and twists the end of Keith’s ponytail around his finger. “So…you’re really okay?”

“Yep.”

“Good, then. Because I was talking to Allura earlier, and she said you fell down the stairs? So I’m glad to know that was just crazy talk. Right, sweetie?” Keith freezes.

_Fuck._

That traitor.

Lance is still playing with Keith’s hair, but his smile is too innocent to be true. Keith keeps his eyes on his paperwork, face heating up. “I just tripped, okay? And Allura was there, so you don’t have to worry.”

“What happened to taking it easy? I thought we agreed you would be careful today.”

“No, _you_ agreed. And I’ve been taking it easy for weeks, Lance. It’s not a lot to ask to just want to be normal again.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean walking up _three flights of stairs_ instead of taking the elevator like a sane person on your first day back.”

“I’m still in one piece, aren’t I? So it’s fine.”

Lance sighs. He lets Keith’s hair fall back against his neck. “All I’m asking is that you be more careful. Matt gave very clear instructions on how to recover properly, and I’m pretty sure you just violated, like, _ten_ of his rules by pulling that stunt.”

Keith bites into another nugget, chewing sullenly. “Whatever. I’m a doctor too, you know.”

Lance gasps. “Really? That’s such a coincidence, because so am I! We should date.”

Keith fails to hold back an amused snort. “You’re stupid.”

“Thanks.”

Keith gathers up his charts and turns to go back to work. Naturally, that’s when everything decides to go heinously wrong.

Keith is feeling so good about getting through the whole day without any long-term consequential incidents, he doesn’t stop to think before he puts all his weight on his right foot.

And that was the wrong move to make, apparently.

Keith’s body must choose that exact moment to screw him over, for the instant his right foot hits the floor, it’s as though someone doused it in lighter fluid and lit a match. Agony seizes through the invisible limb, and Keith’s leg gives out underneath him from the sheer shock of it. He stumbles, and this time there’s no one close enough to catch him.

He hears Lance shout his name as Keith goes crashing to the floor, pain shooting through his wrists as his hands slam into the ground in an aborted attempt to catch his fall. The papers he was holding scatter everywhere, and spots blacken Keith’s vision from the impact of his head hitting solid linoleum.

In no time Lance is at his side, helping him up and babbling his concern all the while. He helps Keith into a sitting position, prosthetic leg sprawled in front of him. Lance is checking him all over, searching for injuries. “Holy shit, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Keith shakes his head no, but he’s ninety percent sure his prosthetic is going to disintegrate from the pain pulsing through his nonexistent leg. It’s hard to determine what’s worse: the phantom limb, or the fact that Keith just faceplanted in front of the whole hospital. Probably a good mixture of both, along with the bruise he’s sure is forming on his chin from his friendly collision with the ground.

Lance helps Keith stand, but once he’s got his feet under him his instincts kick in and he pushes Lance away. He braces himself with a hand on the ER desk while his other hand stays outstretched, keeping Lance from coming any closer. “I’m fine, Lance. Just—just go away.”

Lance’s forehead crinkles. “What? Keith, I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t _need_ any help. I can handle this by myself.” Has the room always been this small?

Lance takes a step toward him. “Babe, you don’t have to—”

“Just shut up and leave me alone!”

Lance freezes, and Keith might as well have just slapped him in the face. Keith immediately regrets raising his voice when he sees Lance’s hurt expression.

Keith’s eyes dart around, and everyone is staring—doctors and patients alike. Staring at _him._ Staring at his leg, which throbs with such intensity Keith doesn’t know how much longer he can stay standing. People are murmuring to each other, likely hushed questions about what’s wrong with the crazy guy with the bum leg.

And Keith can’t take it any longer.

Ignoring Lance calling his name, Keith bolts down the hallway, sheer luck the only reason he doesn’t fall for the third time today. He bursts into the first on-call room he finds and locks the door behind him. He sinks down to the ground with his back against the door, legs stretched out in front of him as pain ripples up and down the limb.

Trembling fingers push up his pant leg and unhook the prosthesis, throwing it across the dark room. Keith’s head falls back against the wood and stays there. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and all he can comprehend is _pain, pain, pain._ Has it ever been this bad before? He can’t remember.

Eventually, after however long of holding back tears and waiting for the static to stop, someone knocks on the door behind him. Keith ignores it. Whoever it is, he’s not in the mood to explain why he just collapsed in an on-call room after humiliating himself in front of a hundred people and yelling at his boyfriend.

“Keith? You in there?”

 _Fuck._ Keith recognizes that voice. He must have seen Keith hobble in.

Shiro knocks again. “Keith? Are you okay?”

“Fantastic,” he mutters, voice rougher than he intended. Who knows if the low volume even carries through the wood.

Silence. “…Can I come in?”

Keith hesitates. As miserable and embarrassed as he is, having his brother with him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And he _did_ just throw his leg across the room, which in hindsight wasn’t too bright given his current situation. Plus, like kids, Shiro doesn’t count as a person. He’s allowed to see Keith in his moment of weakness.

Keith scoots to the side so he’s no longer leaned against the door and reaches up to unlock it. Shiro opens the door slowly, stepping inside when he sees Keith on the floor. He closes the door and flicks on the light switch before kneeling down beside him.

Concerned eyes sweep over Keith, searching for anything out of place. “Buddy? You okay?” He pushes Keith’s bangs out of his eyes.

Keith bats away his hand. “I’m fine, Shiro.”

Forehead creasing, Shiro sits back on his heels. “What happened?”

How is he supposed to explain something like this? Keith licks his lips. “Remember…when you first lost the arm and kept waking up in the middle of the night?”

Realization dawns on Shiro’s face, and Keith knows he gets it. “Oh…”

Keith lowers his gaze to his lap. “Yup.”

“How often?”

“A couple times a night. But now it’s happening during the day, too.” God, he really is a mess.

“Have you told Matt? He’s your doctor, so I’m sure he knows how to help.”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s nothing he can help me with. It’s not his fault I’m going crazy.”

Shiro narrows his eyes. “Don’t say that. I mean it.”

Keith gives him a look. “I’m feeling pain in a part of me that no longer _exists,_ Shiro. I’d call that crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Keith. Phantom limb is a very real thing, and there are a ton of ways to treat it.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Don’t lecture me, I’ve read the articles. It’s all that stupid mind over matter garbage, like that I should go for relaxing walks or imagine I’m sitting on a beach. Trust me, I’ve tried it all.”

“It’s not all like that. Everyone’s coping method is different. I remember sometimes it would flare up so badly that I would have to stab myself in the prosthetic with a screwdriver to convince my brain the arm was gone.”

Keith sits up a little straighter, blinking at his brother. “That’s…crazy.”

Shiro nods. “Yeah, it is. But it worked. It’s all about finding what works for you.” He lifts his head, eyes roaming the room. They land on the floor-length mirror against the opposite wall, and Shiro stands.

“What are you doing?”

Shiro unhooks the mirror and brings it over, kneeling beside Keith again. He nudges Keith’s knees apart and places the mirror between them so the glass side faces his flesh leg. “How do you feel now?”

“What?”

“Look in the mirror and tell me if the pain gets better or worse.”

Keith groans. “Can’t you just let me suffer in peace?”

“Nope. Mirror.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he humors Shiro. At best, maybe he’ll discover a mole he’s never seen before. But when Keith tilts his head and looks into the glass, something shifts.

The image of his left leg is reflected so that from this angle, it kind of _does_ look like he has two completely normal legs. There’s no empty space anymore. Nothing but flesh, and bone, and _him._ Keith stares into the mirror for a little longer, just soaking in the feeling of _wholeness._

The longer he looks at it, the more Keith becomes aware of the ache in his leg fading ever so slowly. Little by little, as he stares at his reflection and commits it to memory, his brain catches up somewhere along the way. The pain dies down. The static vanishes in waves, leaving not a remnant in its place.

Relief spreads throughout his entire body, and Keith sags against the wall at the first reprieve he’s had all day. The tension drains from his muscles. He closes his eyes, embracing the sensation for as long as he can. He hasn’t felt this complete since before the leg was gone.

“Better,” he sighs after a while. “That…feels better.”

Shiro smiles, squeezing Keith’s shoulder reassuringly. “See? It’s just about tricking your brain.”

Keith nods, letting his head loll back against the wall again. “Fuck,” he groans a minute later. “I just ran out of the ER.” He drags a hand over his face. “Lance must think I’m insane.”

“I’m sure he’s just worried,” Shiro reassures him. “Have you talked to him about all this?”

Keith snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“Why not? You know he’d be happy to help.”

“Exactly.” At Shiro’s questioning eyebrow-raise, Keith explains, “Lance has been taking care of me and my problems for weeks, and he’s never complained about it. Not once. And now I’m _finally_ starting to feel like a boyfriend again instead of a patient. I can’t pile this on top of everything else right when we’re getting back to normal. I won’t.”

“He just wants to be there for you.”

“He shouldn’t have to. I can handle this myself.”

Shiro frowns, but he doesn’t push him. Instead he moves so he’s sitting against the wall as well, side pressed against Keith’s. “You know there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, right?”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you trying to deal with everything alone when you’ve got half a dozen friends who help people with things like this every day? If a patient came into the hospital and said everything you just did, what would you have told them?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.” Keith doesn’t look up because he knows if he does, he’ll see Shiro’s trademark Judgey Face—capable of making even the most notorious serial killer feel ashamed. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Fine.” And they don’t, thankfully.

Keith leans his head on Shiro’s shoulder. He continues to stare at the mirror, trying to make the calm last for as long as he can. It’s funny—before losing the leg, Keith never thought twice about what it would feel like to be without it. Now, he longs for the time when he had the luxury of not caring.

Shiro nudges his head with his shoulder after a while. “You ready to get back out there?”

Keith shakes his head. “Just a couple more minutes.”

“Okay. Take as long as you need.”

And they sit there in silence, Keith’s eyes glued to his legs. His two normal legs.

* * *

That night, Keith goes to bed hoping for a continued reprieve from the regularly-scheduled nightly trauma-reliving, just to shake things up.

After trying that mirror trick Shiro showed him, Keith was happy to find that he didn’t have a single other encounter with phantom limb for the rest of the day. He was so relieved, he didn’t even snap at Leifsdottir the next four times he caught her following him around. For the first time in a long time, Keith Kogane was at peace.

Naturally, the bliss doesn’t last. The universe isn’t _that_ gracious to him, otherwise none of this would have happened to him in the first place.

2:19 AM, and Keith bolts up in bed in a blind panic, shirt soaked through with sweat and extremities trembling as he claws desperately for a leg that isn’t there. One would think he’d be used to the dreams by now, but every time this happens it feels like he’s reliving it all over again. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything but shudder as wave after wave of prickling fire surges through his leg, again and again in time with flashes of memory. It’s like a thousand hot needles are digging into his skin, tearing through every nerve they can find.

Keith’s fingers curl into the sheets while his other hand stays pressed over his mouth, trying to keep the choking gasps locked inside. His eyes dart to the space next to him where Lance is still sleeping, his breathing deep and even. Keith watches it, watches Lance’s chest rise in even tempo, and eventually he manages to coax his own lungs into doing the same.

The pain in his leg doesn’t let up, though. Not in the slightest. Keith whimpers into his hand.

Lance makes a noise in his sleep and rolls over. His eyes don’t open, but he groggily reaches until his fingertips are brushing Keith’s wrist. “Mm? Keith?”

Keith exhales quietly, keeping the shivering down to a minimum for as long as he can. “Sorry,” he whispers, raspy. “Just me.”

Lance sighs, nuzzling his face into his pillow. “Y’okay?” He’s on the brink between sleep and awareness, and Keith feels guilty for yet again being the reason behind Lance losing sleep.

He brushes his fingers over Lance’s hair, more to calm himself than Lance. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” And Lance, exhausted and barely conscious to begin with, mutters something unintelligible before he’s snoring again.

Keith sighs, swallowing thickly. His leg throbs horribly still, too much for sleep to even be an option.

* * *

“Babe? You in there?”

Keith jolts awake, sitting up with a low groan. _Fuck,_ his back hurts. What time is it?

Keith slowly becomes aware of his surroundings, and the previous night’s events come crawling back to him. He’s sitting on the tiled bathroom floor, a mirror tucked between his outstretched legs and his back reclined against the edge of the bathtub. He squints, blinking against the bright light streaming through the window. “’Morning,” he says, biting back a yawn.

He lifts his head and grimaces at the crick in his neck. He rubs his eyelids, shifting to try and coax some of the numbness out of his lower muscles.

“You okay?” Lance asks through the door.

“Fine. Just…getting in the shower.”

“A shower, huh?” He can hear the grin in Lance’s voice. “Want some company?” The doorknob twitches.

Keith sits up. “Kind of in a hurry. Raincheck, okay?”

“Oh. Okay,” Lance says. The doorknob stills. “That’s cool. I’ll see you for breakfast, then?”

“You got it.”

Lance’s footsteps recede, and Keith lets out a breath. He looks down at the reflection in the mirror one more time.

Two legs.

* * *

Brandon’s surgery is scheduled for early in the morning. Keith’s first surgery since coming back.

Lance told him to be careful this morning, warning Keith that it wouldn’t be easy standing for so many hours at a time. But Keith insisted he could handle it, and he’s hell bent on proving it. He’s fine. He’s a surgeon. Nothing can touch him.

Easier said than done, apparently. Especially when Keith can feel eyes on him throughout the entire surgery—med students and nurses and anyone else who knows about Keith’s not-so-minor injury. Who are just waiting for him to slip up, because it’s his first surgery since coming back, of _course_ something will happen. Of course everyone will at least get some entertainment out of this.

But Keith holds steady. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t slip up. He refuses.

Before he knows it, the surgery is more than halfway finished and he hasn’t had to take a single break. No knees buckling, no flashes of phantom limb, not so much as a hand cramp. And the longer he goes without an incident, the more Keith’s confidence grows and he thinks this may be his first win in a long time.

It’s when Pidge is connecting the donor heart to the capillaries that everything swan dives straight into disaster, right on schedule. One minute Keith is daydreaming about going to Dunkin’ for a donut-shaped reward after his shift his over, and in the next minute pins and needles are running through his right foot. He flinches and nearly drops the forceps he’s holding.

Hunk stares at him. “Keith? You good?”

Keith bites his lip behind his mask, forcing himself to stay still. “Yeah. Sorry, just zoned out for a second there.”

Pidge snorts. “You need to stop staying up all night watching horror movies. They’re turning you into a zombie, man.”

Keith forces himself to chuckle along with her, but he can’t focus enough to hear the rest of Hunk and Pidge’s conversation. The pain spreads slowly, running up and down his absent skin like venomous spiders.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Leifsdottir standing off to the side with her trusty wheelchair, pushing it the tiniest bit closer to him hopefully.

Keith shoots her a glare, and she shrinks back. He turns back to the operation and clenches his jaw, trying to ignore the pain. Pushing it from his mind, holding the fire back. _Not now. Not in the middle of surgery._ He just needs to hold out for a _little_ longer—just until he can escape and deal with this himself.

Keith must not be as good an actor as he thought he was, because Pidge eyes him for what must be the dozenth time in three hours. “Keith? You okay there? You’re looking kind of pale.”

“I’m fine,” he says as his leg sizzles and surges.

“Do you need to take a break? You can sit down for a couple minutes if you need it.”

“I’m _fine,_ Pidge.”

“No, no,” Hunk says, “I can see it too. Your hands are, like, shaking. Did you get enough to eat today? Maybe your blood sugar’s low.”

Before Keith can tell them to back off and mind their own business, a jolt of agony digs into his bones and his leg _actually_ goes and buckles this time. He lurches out and grabs onto a nearby table for support, a pained cry squeezing past his lips. Trays clatter to the floor as he all but collapses, gripping the table as he’s pretty sure it’s the only thing keeping him upright now.

His leg is _burning._ He hears the others saying his name, asking him what’s going on, but their words don’t compute. Keith’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s sucking in breaths through clenched teeth. Blood rushes in his ears as static stabs nonexistent skin until he can think of nothing else.

“Keith, can you hear me?” Hunk is beside him, hands hovering, afraid to touch. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Keith tries to breathe through the pain, but his lungs have shrunken to the size of marbles. “Fuck,” he squeaks. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck.”_ He reaches for his leg, shaking.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Pidge demands.

“I don’t know!” Hunk says. “Is he having a panic attack?”

There are voices all around, rolling and blending together in a sea of panicked questions. Tuning it out is no easy task, and it feels like Keith’s head is about to explode before one voice in particular stands out.

“Keith?” Shiro is standing in the doorway, holding a mask in front of his face. Keith didn’t even know anyone paged him. “You still with us, buddy?” He’s remarkably calm—something Keith certainly can’t relate to at the moment.

Keith’s lip quivers. _“…Hurts,”_ he gets out. This may quite possibly be the worst episode he’s ever had, and it terrifies him. It’s like the pain dial has been turned to its highest setting and set loose on his nerves.

“The pain’s all in your head, remember? Just try to calm down.”

Keith’s breath hitches. “Kind of hard to calm down when it feels like my leg is fucking _shattering.”_ He groans when the static intensifies tenfold—he didn’t know that was _possible_ until now. It feels like his leg is being sawed off all over again. And this time he doesn’t even get the luxury of passing out.

Shiro is still talking him through it, telling him to remember it’s not real, he’s only imagining the pain, but Keith’s head isn’t getting with the program. He knows if he makes it clear that the leg’s not there anymore the phantom pain will stop, but all his stupid brain can understand is that his imaginary leg is engulfed in flames, searing through flesh and bone.

 _It’s just about tricking your brain,_ Shiro’s words echo in his mind.

Keith yanks down his mask. “Stab me in the foot,” he pants.

Hunk jerks backward. “You want me to _what?”_

“The fake one. Take that scalpel and stab me as hard as you can.” Hunk doesn’t move, and Keith nearly doubles over when the next wave hits. _“Please.”_

“Dude, _no—”_

“Dr. Garrett,” Shiro barks, “stab Dr. Kogane in the foot _now._ That’s an order.”

Hunk looks horrified, but he does as told. He grabs the scalpel and bends down before looking up at Keith anxiously. Keith nods, and with a wince, Hunk jams the scalpel into the top of Keith’s sneaker.

Keith stares at the metal sticking out of his shoe—something that should be _excruciating_ were it imbedded in real tissue, but Keith feels nothing. Not from the scalpel, at least, because the leg isn’t real. There are no nerves there to feel pain.

And little by little, as Keith keeps his gaze locked on the scalpel, the pain ever so slowly recedes. The fire extinguishes.

Keith takes a deep breath, sagging as relief takes over. He reaches out and squeezes Hunk’s arm. “Thanks,” he breathes.

“You okay?” Shiro asks.

Keith nods, too relieved to care about the eyes still on him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

He looks at the scalpel again, sighing in relief. No more pain.

* * *

Keith is in the lounge when Lance finds him at the end of the day. He’s sitting on the couch, prosthetic off and leaned up against the coffee table. He smiles when Lance sits beside him and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“So. I heard some gossip from a couple of little birdies called the interns that you made Hunk stab you in the leg during surgery today?”

Keith lets his head fall onto Lance’s shoulder. “Yup.”

“Should I be concerned? Or…”

Keith chuckles. He should probably be at least a little embarrassed, but he’s too blissed out on the high of getting through surgery and the taste of celebratory donut to care. “Phantom limb. But I found a way to make it stop.”

“…By having Hunk stab you in the leg.”

“Pretty much.”

A rumble runs through Lance’s chest as he laughs. “Fair enough. I guess I’m happy for you, then?”

“Thanks. I am, too.”

They’re quiet for a while, soaking in the tranquility and letting themselves relax. Lance idly traces his index finger over Keith’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for being so crazy lately.”

“More like psychotic.”

Lance shoves him in the shoulder, but it’s lighthearted. “Yes, that too. I was just worried about you, honest.”

“Understatement.”

“Come on, can you blame me? You drive motorcycles off cliffs for _fun,_ dude. I’m pretty sure if you didn’t have me and Shiro watching you all the time, you’d lose your other leg doing something like skydiving blindfolded. Or walking up the stairs.”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“Really though, I am sorry. I’ll try being less protective, okay?”

Keith squints up at him. “I’m guessing Shiro gave you a lecture?”

“…Maybe.”

Keith smirks. Still, he would have to be a monster to resist that cute signature pout, so he sinks deeper into Lance’s side. “I think I can stand to forgive you,” he decides. “It’s going to cost you, though.”

“Name your price.”

Keith shifts so his leg and a half are draped over Lance’s lap. “Stop recruiting interns to do your dirty work?”

Lance presses a hand to his chest. “Me? Using interns for my own benefit? I would never!”

“So you mean to tell me Mousy was just stalking me with a wheelchair all day because she felt like it?”

“I can’t control what the interns do in their free time,” Lance says innocently. “But I’ll make sure to pass the message along. I’ll tell her to stalk Allura instead. I’m sure she’s got to be _way_ more interesting than you and your dumb greasy mullet.”

Keith nods, appeased. “Thank you.”

Lance rests a hand on Keith’s ankle. “So…good day today?”

Keith hums, letting his eyes slip shut as he and Lance cuddle, perfectly content. “Yeah. Good day.”

**Author's Note:**

> (In case you were wondering, Brandon was Bandor's counterpart [Romelle's brother] because I am *sings like Jean Ralphio* UNORIGINALLLLL)


End file.
